The neon glow of The Rusty Block bathed the lot in a hazy light, reflecting off the polished surface of Arashi’s GT-R. He leaned against the hood, cigarette between his fingers, watching as Lana stepped out of her Fairlady 350Z. The air between them was thick with the remnants of their race, unspoken tension lingering in the quiet. Without a word, Arashi extended the cigarette toward her, the subtle gesture saying more than any conversation could. Lana hesitated for a moment, then stepped closer, her sharp green eyes meeting his as she reached for it.

There’s a cool confidence in her movements, and as she lights it, the flicker of the flame illuminates her face for a moment. She inhales, the smoke filling her lungs before she exhales, letting the white trail curl into the air.

With a flick of her wrist, she ashes the cigarette onto the pavement. "Let’s head in," she says, her voice steady and smooth, masking the thoughts swirling in her mind.

Inside, The Rusty Block is a haze of voices and clinking glasses. The place hums with life, and the air is thick with the scent of whiskey, stale beer, and the occasional lingering cigarette. The dim lighting gives the place a seedy charm, and Lana feels a bit out of place, but she pushes the feeling aside. This was a familiar battleground—only now, things were different.

They find a corner booth, tucked away from prying eyes, and settle in. Drinks are ordered, and they talk, at first with an easy rhythm, but soon it becomes a dance of words, part banter, part something darker. The minutes slipped by unnoticed, and before long, the alcohol has loosened their tongues and their resolve.

Arashi leans back in the booth, swirling the remains of his drink, watching her with an amused glint in his red eyes. His smirk is teasing, almost mocking, but there’s something else there, something deeper—maybe it’s the challenge in her eyes, or the way she’d held her own during their banter.

“So, how does it feel to have your car fixed and still lose to me?” Arashi asks, his tone dripping with playful mockery, the words wrapped in a challenge. He sets the empty glass down with a quiet clink, watching her intently.

Lana takes a long drag from her cigarette, her eyes narrowing slightly as she exhales, the smoke swirling in the dim light. There’s a pause before she answers, her voice sharp, but controlled. “You didn’t play fair,” she says, the words laced with quiet defiance.

Arashi leans forward slightly, the smirk never leaving his lips. “What part wasn’t fair?” he asks, intrigued. It’s not just about the race anymore; something else is at play now.

Lana leans back in her seat, crossing her legs in a slow, deliberate motion. Her eyes meet his, the smirk that dances on her lips now a little more knowing, a little more dangerous. “That ‘feint block pass’ on the last turn,” she says, her voice dripping with accusation. “Dirty move. Cheating.”

Arashi chuckles, low and rumbling, the sound almost predatory. His red eyes glitter with amusement, but there’s a flicker of something else behind them. “So, you’d rather I let my car tumble off a cliff just to keep things clean?” he teases, leaning back again, letting the playful tension simmer.

Her smirk falters, the accusation sinking in. She hesitates, biting her lip slightly as she takes another drag, her thoughts swirling. “I didn’t say that. But let’s just say,” she pauses, eyes locking onto his with a defiant glint, “I prefer my wins earned with skill, not tricks.”

Her tone is sharp, but underneath the harshness, there’s grudging respect. It’s clear she’s not just upset about the race, but about how it had made her feel—like she’d been outclassed, outplayed, even though she’d given everything she had.

Arashi looks at her, a flicker of something deeper in his gaze—something soft, almost vulnerable, but quickly masked by his usual cocky demeanor. He shakes his head, tossing a wad of cash onto the bar to cover their drinks. His actions are smooth, practiced, but there’s a bite to his words as he stands, towering over the table. “If you were in my position, Lana, you’d have done the same, Bartender, here’s the cash. Keep the change. I’m off.” he says, his voice tinged with bitterness, but also something else. It’s an offer, maybe even a challenge, but the words sting nonetheless.

Lana watches him, her gaze following his every move. Her chest tightens as regret slowly begins to seep in, curling around her heart. I didn’t mean to sound so harsh, she thinks, but the words have already been said. The space between them grows wider with every passing second, the harshness of their words pushing them further apart.

Arashi turns away, his back to her now, and with one last glance, he says, “Thanks for the company. I’m out.” His tone is final, leaving no room for argument, no room for anything else. He walks away without another word, his footsteps echoing in the distance.

Lana sits there for a moment, frozen, her heart tightening painfully in her chest. She hadn’t meant to sound so cold, but she couldn’t take it back now. The knot of regret tightens as she watches him disappear into the night, her breath catching in her throat. What have I done?

The drive back was agonizingly silent. The rain had started to fall harder, each drop tapping against the windshield like a distant reminder of the storm brewing inside both of them. The hum of the engine, steady and relentless, was the only sound that filled the heavy quiet between them. Arashi’s knuckles were white, gripping the steering wheel so tightly it seemed like it might break. His gaze remained fixed, unyielding, straight ahead, as though the road could somehow lead him away from the turmoil swirling inside him.

“She doesn’t get it,” Arashi thought bitterly, his eyes narrowing against the onslaught of rain. His thoughts were like a tangle of broken wires, raw and jumbled. “She never does.” Every word he’d said to her, the sharpness in his tone, the dismissiveness in his gestures—he could feel it all replaying in his mind, each second more frustrating than the last. “She doesn’t understand what it’s like to be me,” he thought, the words echoing in his head. He was always in the spotlight, always expected to win, always expected to be perfect. The weight of that expectation was suffocating, but Lana—she wouldn’t understand. No one did.

His grip tightened, his body tensing with the pressure building inside him. “I did what I had to do,” he reasoned, but the justification didn’t help. “She thinks I’m just some cheat, some—” His mind spiraled downward, frustration clawing at him, but beneath it all was an overwhelming sense of loneliness. The thought of her, that hurt in her eyes, cut through him like a blade.

“Was I too harsh?” The question haunted him, persistent and relentless. “Maybe I should’ve been gentler, maybe…” But as quickly as that thought surfaced, another sharper one followed: “Does she even care?” The bitterness stung, and he pushed the pedal down, accelerating through the rain, the road blurring beneath him.

The feeling of emptiness gnawed at him, gnawing deeper with every mile. It was a quiet ache, a constant reminder that no matter what he did, it was never enough. “Not for her. Not for anyone.” His mind raced, but all he could hear was the silence of the night, the heavy weight of his own frustration pressing down on him. He didn’t know how to make things right, and maybe, deep down, he didn’t even believe he could.

Meanwhile, Lana sat in her car, her fingers gripping the wheel like it was the only thing anchoring her to reality. The silence felt suffocating, drowning her in its vastness. Each drop of rain seemed to strike a deeper chord of guilt in her chest, the coldness of the night mirroring the coldness she felt between herself and Arashi.

“Why did I say that?” The question cut through her repeatedly, each time a sharper jab, a painful reminder of how she had messed everything up. She hadn’t meant to hurt him, not like that. She had only wanted him to understand—wanted him to see that she wasn’t just some girl in the background of his life. She was a person, too. But her words had come out all wrong. “Like a knife,” she thought bitterly. “A knife that stabbed him, with no intention other than to wound.”

Her chest tightened as the tears began to fall. At first, they were only a quiet trickle, unnoticed in the dim light of the car, but soon they became impossible to ignore. The blur of the road through her windshield seemed to echo her inner turmoil, the smearing streaks of water on the glass mirroring the tears she could no longer hold back. Her heart ached with a dull, constant pain, the kind of regret that wraps itself around your chest and tightens, leaving you breathless.

“What if I ruined everything?” The thought hit her like a freight train, and she wiped her eyes quickly, trying to push away the swell of emotion. “What if he never speaks to me again? What if...”

She shook her head, focusing on the road, trying to clear her mind, but every mile only seemed to stretch the distance between her and him further. The car felt like a cage now, and the space between them was more than just physical—it was something heavier, more suffocating. She wished she could take back the words she’d said, but once they were out, they couldn’t be undone. She couldn’t fix this.

Her mind raced in circles, the guilt overwhelming, but with each passing mile, it only got worse. The silence felt unbearable now, as though it was a reflection of everything she was feeling. She glanced at the empty seat beside her—imagining him there, imagining the way things could’ve been different if she had just kept her mouth shut, if she had been more patient, more understanding.

“Why did I have to push him away?” The question whispered through her mind like a haunting echo, and she wished—so desperately—that she could reach out and fix the hurt she had caused. But there was no reaching out now. There was only the distance between them, stretching longer and longer until she wasn’t sure if she could ever close the gap.

And so, she drove on, the weight of the night pressing down on her, the rain mixing with her tears as the distance between them grew, both on the road and in her heart.

By the time they both arrived at his garage, it was well past midnight. The streets were unnervingly still, the usual buzz of the city muffled beneath the relentless drumming of the rain. Every raindrop seemed heavier, pressing down like the tension between them. Arashi’s GT-R rolled into the driveway, its low growl fading into silence as the engine cut. He stepped out, slamming the door with a force that betrayed his emotions, and stood for a moment, letting the rain soak through his clothes. His jaw was clenched, and his hands curled into fists at his sides.

Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

He moved toward the open garage, where the dim light of a single bulb cast long shadows over toolboxes and scattered car parts. The faint smell of motor oil hung heavy in the air, mixing with the dampness of the rain. Arashi yanked off his leather jacket, tossing it onto a nearby workbench as though discarding the weight of the evening.

He was halfway across the garage when he heard the soft crunch of tires on gravel. Lana’s car pulled in behind his GT-R, the headlights briefly illuminating his silhouette before they dimmed. She parked hastily, the wipers still dragging across her windshield even after she cut the engine.

Arashi didn’t turn around. He didn’t need to see her to feel her presence; it clung to the air between them like static.

“What are you doing here?” His voice was flat, but the storm beneath it was barely contained.

Lana stepped out of her car, closing the door with a deliberate softness that contrasted his earlier anger. Her figure was a shadow against the garage’s dim light, rainwater streaking her hair and dampening her clothes. She hesitated, her arms wrapping tightly around herself as if to keep the chill—or her own doubts—at bay.

“We need to talk,” she said, her voice trembling with uncertainty but holding an edge of determination.

Arashi let out a breath, the sound sharp and annoyed. Without a word, he turned and leaned against the workbench, leaving the garage door open. He didn’t look back, but he didn’t shut it either. A silent invitation, or perhaps an acknowledgment that he wasn’t ready to sever the thread entirely.

The tension in the air was suffocating as Lana stepped inside, droplets from her clothes and hair forming small puddles on the concrete floor. She stood there, unsure, staring at his back. Her mind raced, an endless loop of regret, overthinking every word she’d said earlier.

‘What if I’ve pushed him too far this time? What if he doesn’t care anymore?’

She shook the thought away, forcing herself to move forward even though her feet felt like lead. She found him leaning against the workbench, arms crossed tightly over his chest, his dark red eyes glaring at the floor as though it might yield answers to his unspoken frustrations.

“You followed me,” he said, his tone low but laced with restrained anger. “Why? To argue some more?”

Lana winced at his words, but she steeled herself, stepping closer. “No. I followed you because I couldn’t leave things like this.”

Arashi scoffed, shaking his head. “Things like what, Lana? You always think you know better. You want to play the righteous card, but when it comes to understanding me, you never do. You think this is about winning and losing? It’s not. It’s about—” He stopped abruptly, his voice cracking just slightly before he composed himself. “It’s about respect. And trust.”

She blinked, his words slicing through her defenses. Guilt churned in her chest, heavy and suffocating. She wrapped her arms tighter around herself, struggling to hold his gaze.

“I didn’t mean it the way it came out,” she whispered, her voice breaking. “I didn’t mean to make you feel like that.”

“Then what did you mean?” Arashi asked sharply, his eyes locking onto hers. “What do you want, Lana? Because I’m tired of trying to figure it out.”

The question hit her like a slap, leaving her momentarily speechless. Her mind spiraled with overthinking. ‘What do I want? Do I even know? Is this fixable? Does he even want it to be fixed?’

But beneath all the noise in her mind, one truth emerged, steady and unwavering.

“I want you to stay,” she said finally, her voice barely above a whisper. The vulnerability in her words hung in the air, raw and unguarded.

Her heart thudded painfully as she waited for his reaction. For a moment, he just stood there, his expression unreadable. Then, finally, he let out a long sigh, his shoulders sagging slightly as though the weight of her words had pulled him down.

“You always do this,” he muttered, though the anger in his tone had softened, replaced with something more resigned. “You push me away, and then you ask me to stay. Do you have any idea how hard that is?”

“I do.” Lana admitted, her voice trembling. “And I’m sorry. I just—I’m scared of losing you.”

Arashi’s lips pressed into a thin line as he looked away, his gaze distant. “I’m scared too...” he said quietly, almost to himself.

The words hit her like a wave, and for the first time that night, the distance between them didn’t feel insurmountable.

The rain outside softened to a gentle patter, a quiet rhythm against the metal roof of the garage. The air inside was heavy with unspoken words, the scent of damp leather and motor oil grounding them in the reality of the moment. Lana stood just a few feet away from Arashi, the space between them a battlefield of pride, anger, and something much deeper.

“I never wanted to push you away,” Lana said softly, breaking the silence. Her voice wavered, but she held his gaze this time. “I just… I don’t know how to handle this. You. Us.”

Arashi let out a slow breath, his hands loosening from the tight grip they had on the edge of the workbench. “You think I do?” he asked, his voice quieter now but still tinged with frustration. “I’m out here every day fighting to prove myself, to keep everything I’ve built from falling apart. And with you…” He paused, searching for the right words. “I don’t know how to make you see that you’re the only thing I don’t want to lose. But I don’t know how to hold onto you without feeling like I’m failing at everything else.”

Lana’s chest tightened, his words piercing through her defenses. She stepped closer, her arms dropping to her sides, leaving her vulnerable and exposed. Her green eyes searched his face, her own reflection shimmering in the depths of his gaze.

“I don’t need you to be perfect, Arashi,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper. “I need you to be here. With me. Even if it’s messy. Even if it’s hard.”

Her words hung in the air, and for a moment, she thought he might turn away, that her honesty might be too much. But then, he moved—swiftly, almost impulsively—and before she could react, his arms were around her.

The embrace was fierce, almost desperate, as though he was afraid she might vanish if he let go. Lana’s breath hitched as she felt his warmth seep into her, his damp clothes pressing against her own. She clung to him, her fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt as if anchoring herself to him.

“I’m here…” he murmured against her hair, his voice rough but steady. “I’ll stay.”

Relief flooded her, and the tears she’d been holding back spilled over, her shoulders shaking as she let herself feel the full weight of the moment. Arashi held her tighter, his hand sliding up to the back of her head, cradling her as though she were something fragile and irreplaceable.

Lana stood in the bedroom, arms folded, the oversized shirt draped over her forearm like a lifeline she wasn’t sure she wanted. Her tight black dress clung uncomfortably to her damp skin, a reminder of the rain and the tension that had followed them home.

Arashi leaned casually against the doorframe, watching her with a look that hovered somewhere between amusement and curiosity. His freshly changed clothes—a clean white T-shirt and black sweatpants—contrasted with the storm still reflected in his crimson eyes.

“You know,” he began, his tone teasing, “that dress is going to get less comfortable by the second. Not really ‘sleepwear material.’”

Lana shot him a dry look, flipping the oversized shirt in her hand. “Oh, and this is supposed to be better? It’s practically a tent.”

He shrugged. “A very stylish tent.”

She rolled her eyes, but her lips twitched as though fighting back a smile. “You have an answer for everything, don’t you?”

“Only when you’re around,” he shot back smoothly, crossing his arms.

Her cheeks flushed slightly, but she covered it with a huff, tossing the shirt onto the bed. She hesitated, her gaze flickering to him before looking away, her mind racing. She didn’t want him to leave—not tonight, not after everything. But how could she say that without sounding desperate?

And then, inspiration struck.

“Arashi,” she said, her voice suddenly serious, “have you ever heard of the wrench ghost?”

He blinked, caught off guard. “The… wrench ghost?”

“Yes,” she said, her expression deadpan as she turned to face him. “It’s an old urban legend. Apparently, garages like yours are prime haunting spots. They say the spirit of a disgruntled mechanic lingers, rattling tools and whispering about loose bolts.”

His brow arched, but there was a glimmer of amusement in his eyes. “You’re kidding.”

“Nope.” She stepped closer, her tone dropping to a mock-conspiratorial whisper. “And do you know what the wrench ghost hates the most?”

He leaned forward slightly, playing along. “What?”

“Oversized shirts,” she said, as though it were the most obvious thing in the world.

Arashi barked a laugh, the sound deep and rich, filling the room. “Oh, come on!”

“I’m serious!” she said, her voice rising dramatically as she gestured toward the bed. “The wrench ghost can’t stand them. It’s drawn to people wearing them. So, clearly…” She trailed off, spreading her arms with a flourish to emphasize her lack of attire.

Arashi shook his head, running a hand through his dark red hair as his laughter subsided. “You’re something else, Lana. You’d spin a whole ghost story just to avoid putting on a shirt?”

Her expression softened slightly, though she kept her tone light. “Well, the wrench ghost also doesn’t like being alone. So, you know…” She glanced toward the bed, her meaning clear even as she kept her pride intact.

He studied her for a moment, his crimson gaze unreadable, before his lips curved into a slow, knowing smile. “You’re unbelievable.”

“And yet, you’re still standing here,” she shot back, raising a brow.

With a small shake of his head, he crossed the room, his hand coming to rest lightly on her waist. His touch was warm, grounding, and the humor faded into something quieter, more intimate.

“You could’ve just asked,” he murmured, his voice dropping into that low, velvety tone that made her heart race.

“And let you have that win?” she countered, her green eyes meeting his. “Not a chance.”

His chuckle was soft, but it lingered as he dipped his head, his lips brushing hers in a kiss that started light but quickly deepened. His hand slid from her waist to the small of her back, pulling her closer as if she might slip away.

She sighed against his lips, melting into him, her fingers tangling in his shirt. The warmth of his embrace chased away the cold remnants of the rain, and for a moment, the world outside didn’t matter.

When they finally pulled apart, Lana rested her forehead against his, her voice a whisper. “So… are you staying?”

He smirked, his arms still wrapped around her. “Looks like I don’t have much of a choice. The wrench ghost might get me otherwise.”

She laughed softly, the sound muffled as she buried her face against his chest. “You’re impossible.”

“And you’re trouble,” he replied, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. “But I guess I’m staying anyway.”

They climbed into bed, the tension of the night finally melting away as they settled into a comfortable silence. Lana curled against him, her bare skin warm against his, and for the first time in what felt like forever, she felt at peace.

As the night wore on, Arashi’s breathing grew slow and steady. Just as Lana was drifting off, she heard it—the faintest, softest snore.

Her eyes flew open, and she lifted her head, glaring at him in mock disbelief. “Seriously? You snore?”

One of his eyes cracked open, and a lazy, knowing smirk spread across his lips. “Told you I’m staying. That includes sleeping.”

“You’re lucky you’re cute,” she muttered, settling back against him.

“Damn right I am,” he murmured, his voice fading as sleep claimed him.

This time, Lana let herself relax, the sound of the rain outside and the steady rhythm of his breathing lulling her into a deep, dreamless sleep.

TO BE CONTINUED.